


The Astronomy of Manmade Stars

by babyblueglasses



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Minor Injuries, Pining, heavily implied parental abuse, so much Loki pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2018-08-31 18:26:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8589085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babyblueglasses/pseuds/babyblueglasses
Summary: Loki has turned the life of a recluse into an art, right down to the technologically obsolete candles and stolen magical tomes. Yet when an armored man stumbles in past his forbidden window, Loki finds himself obsessed with unraveling the mystery man's secrets. Firstly, his name.





	

With a soft rustle, the dusty page turned. Loki worried his thumb against his bottom lip, studying the stolen library book. Its rune work was far more advanced than his tutor would allow him to learn. Naturally, he had read through all of it twice already. 

Reading was one of the few things that he could do in his room, aside from stare out at the stars or play with the steady stream of wax dripping down the candles. 

Except for his studies and obligations, Loki seldom left. Outside of his room was a barren wasteland of tedium and pomp. The only kind thing he could say of it was that it did offer the delightful possibility of toying with the court and servants, but they had long grown weary of him. 

Thor and his friends were easier targets, but they didn’t have nearly so many hesitations about payback. 

And as much as his misdeeds and pranks kept Loki from boredom, he knew that they made him fair game for retribution outside of these bedroom walls. There was seldom a night that went by in which he wasn’t locked up in the room alone, reading or staring out the arched glass window. 

Loki had just gotten to the chapter on blood magic again when a thud sounded on the roof. He rolled his eyes. Thor. Or, more likely, Fandral. Someone had probably gotten themselves into some mess and needed Loki to bail them out. Or maybe Fandral was there to get back at him for ruining things with his last fling. Loki stood with a huff. Roof tiles clicked as they scattered down. There was a louder thud, closer to the window. 

Fandral was never so clumsy, even when he was drunk. Thor would’ve been far more likely to just barge in past his door. 

Uncertainty dogged Loki’s steps as he strode up to the window. He held his breath as he peered through the ornately arranged panes of glass. 

There was the dim glitter of lights in the city beyond the castle. Dark outlines of twisting tree branches blowing back and forth in the wind. A misplaced tile. And a hand, blindly reaching just beyond the stretch of the window. Loki’s heart skipped a beat.

He withdrew a dagger, pressing himself to the wall. Then he saw the most curious thing step into the moonlight. A man, in a full suit of armor, clearly at a loss. 

Loki watched him fumble a few seconds longer before deciding that the man was, indeed, an idiot.

Loki pulled the window open. 

“They’ll kill you, you know,” Loki announced. He leaned against the windowsill, arms crossed, with a jagged little smile betraying his enjoyment of the matter. “Or perhaps I’ll kill you myself? But I do feel obligated to acknowledge how awfully dull that would be. This is the most pathetic assassination attempt I have ever to witness.” 

The armored man wobbled, still attempting to steady himself against the wall. His voice was filtered and tin-like through his metal mask. “Assassa—what? No. You’ve got the wrong idea, I’m—”

“A perfectly corrigible warrior, crawling up the palace roofs at night to a prince’s chambers, I’m sure.” 

“I didn't climb. I flew,” the armored man quickly pointed out. “And I didn’t know that was what this was. Look. I’ve got to recharge for a moment. I need to look at the suit, something sent the power down in the thruster and I just need to fix it. Then I’ll be out of your hair. Promise. Just don’t kill me for five minutes. Please.” 

“Five minutes,” Loki repeated slowly, as if considering it. “And why would I do that?” 

There was a compressed clicking sound and then the helmet’s faceplate was coming back. 

Loki had been watching in malicious amusement, relishing the opportunity to toy with this poor, hapless fool. It was rare for his toys to be delivered directly to him. When the faceplate lifted however, he had to catch his breath. A handsome man stared back with pleading, fearful honey brown eyes. 

The fear wasn’t nearly as pleasurable for Loki as it should have been. 

The night wind caught the man’s sweat slicked hair, playing with it sweetly before gently dropping it in a curl against his forehead. “I just need five minutes.” 

Loki’s heart beat faster. He stepped back from the window. “Get inside before you fall. I would hate to have you waste your five minutes on snapping your neck.” 

The man grinned at him. He stumbled towards the windowsill, and Loki found himself grabbing onto the armor to help him inside. Once he had his footing, the man sat down in the chair beside the window and removed an armored boot. 

Now that Loki wasn’t bent on antagonizing the man, he couldn’t help but stare. 

The armor was the most peculiar contraption that he had ever seen. 

The man held the boot up to the bright moonlight, tinkering with something inside. “What sort of armor is that?” Loki asked. He had seen far more armor in his lifetime than he had ever cared to, and he was certain that he’d never seen any quite like this. 

“No offense, but if you’re planning to stab me when my five minutes are up, I’d rather not waste any of it talking.” 

Loki’s heart caught in his throat. “How do you know I have any intention of stabbing you? Perhaps I was simply going to strangle you.” 

“I can see that you’re heavily armed with various sharp metal objects, mainly daggers,” the man answered. He didn’t sound impressed, or as Loki noted with disappointment, threatened. 

“How?” 

“A warning on my screen. Now, I know it’s me saying this, but no talking.” 

Loki let the man’s insolence slide. He wanted the opportunity to study him. Even hunched forward and sweaty, the man was attractive, Loki had to admit. Intriguing at least. “Ah. There,” the man said suddenly. A soft blue glow filled the room as the suit lit up. 

Loki longed to press his hand to the chest of it, to hold that radiant light in his hand. He held the traitorous appendage to his own chest. 

The armored man stood to leave back through the window. 

“Wait,” Loki said. 

The man did not turn around. 

“I wish to know how you procured your armor,” Loki said with all the self-righteous demand of a prince. He heard the soft breath of what he thought was a laugh before the man turned around. 

“I don’t think I can explain how I built this thing in the twenty seconds I have left,” the man said. 

He had _built_ it? This was too interesting to let go. “Forget the five minutes,” Loki said. “I grant you permission to be here until I rescind it. Now tell me of your armor.” 

The man scratched at his beard, slowly looking him over. Infuriatingly, the action made Loki feel small. “Loki, right?” Loki nodded his head. “Yeah,” the man said. “I don’t think so. I’m not exactly supposed to be out and you’re…” The man seemed to think better of it and stepped up onto the ledge. 

“I am the second prince,” Loki announced, the hand that would’ve drawn a dagger bunching into a fist. 

“And _I_ don’t want to wind up butt naked in the town square.” He snapped his faceplate shut as Loki tried placing what he was referring to. 

It hit him suddenly. Yes. He had done that. He hadn’t felt sorry for that man. 

But he was certain that this man was not that man. He would’ve recognized a face like this one. “Wait.” Loki stepped beside the ledge, resting his fingers on the window’s handle. “I promise that no harm will come to you if you tell me of your armor. Stay. Tell me of it.” 

“I’d love to, but now’s not the time.” With that, the armored man blasted off, leaving a scorch mark on the windowsill. 

Loki watched his form streak across the sky like a meteor, strung between awe and sour rejection. 

✴ ✴ ✴

Loki dragged his finger through the scorch mark, his head propped up on his chin while he leaned against the windowsill in melancholy. Two weeks had passed since he’d seen the armored man. He’d cycled from hope for his return to denial to anger to depression and back again enough times to accept that the armored man was not coming back. 

He’d asked around for a man in flying armor, subtly, but still he’d only been laughed at. No one seemed to know a thing about a brown eyed man with a suit that could fly. 

His dreams and waking hours were plagued by visions of stroking his hands through the armored man’s hair, pulling him in as the man swore fealty over and over to him like a prayer. 

“Loki.” 

He stilled at the sharp voice of his mother but didn’t bother to move from his slouch in the windowsill. “Did you steal the hilts from all of Thor’s swords?” 

Loki stared out at the tawny fields beyond the city. It was a beautiful, clear day. A perfect day for flying in one’s suit, if one were inclined to do so. “It was just a bit of fun.” He told the landscape, voice dull and indifferent. 

There was a pause, but Loki had no idea how his mother reacted as he studied the one wispy cloud in the sky. “Loki,” his mother scolded. “A bit of fun is not the destruction of an eight thousand year old heirloom. How many times must we have this conversation?” 

“I was bored.” 

A long, winding sigh reached his ears. Then he felt his mother’s hand on his shoulder. “Loki,” she said. “Perhaps you would not be so bored if you sought out a few friends, rather than keeping everyone away with tricks. They may surprise you if you would only give them a chance.” 

“I have no need of the brainless sycophants that only see me as a means to an end.” 

“Loki.” 

“Please leave me be Mother,” he said, pulling closer to the open window. It had been this way for nearly a millennia. It would be this way for a millennia more. His mother’s hand squeezed his shoulder. 

“You are a clever and charming boy,” his mother said. “I am sure there is someone who can see that beyond your title.” She pressed a kiss to his head before moving to leave the room. “You will be responsible for repairing all of Thor’s swords,” she called from the doorway. “Whether by magic or of your own funds to a local smith. As for how you will make it up to your brother’s wounded heart, that you will have to figure out on your own.” 

Loki rolled his eyes. Great, now he was responsible for the idiot’s feelings too. Loki sulked for a while before getting up. Slinking through the halls, he avoided the few servants and guards about until he reached his brother’s quarters. The pile of hilts and swords laid untouched in the center of his armory. Loki could hear his brother’s distraught voice a few rooms over, interrupted occasionally by the soft voice of his mother. 

He kneeled down to the ground to attach the first two. It was easy, like clicking together a puzzle piece. What a waste of time this was. His magic fused them as easily as it had torn them apart. It was child’s play. If his brother had ever bothered to learn anything about magic, he would’ve been able to do this himself. But he couldn’t, could he?

Each completed sword was returned to its proper place in the armory. Loki was priding himself on how easy the fix was when he came to the last sword. 

The eight thousand year heirloom. He knew which one it was. The oaf had gotten it for his birthday one week after destroying half of the city market in a joyride. No one thought to give it to him, a wielder of magic, someone who could have made use of the sword’s magical properties. Loki had taken particular relish in breaking it.

And now it wouldn’t fix. 

Loki tried until he heard his brother and mother approaching. He snuck off to his room with the pieces. 

The next three hours produced the same results. In a fit of rage, he threw the pieces at the wall. They clanged against the ground with a pathetic, echoing ring. 

To a smithy it was, then. 

✴ ✴ ✴

It was dusk when Loki appeared at the smithy. 

The owner had a reputation for womanizing and drinking, but he had supplied the royal army with incomparable weapons since before Loki’s childhood. He was the only true option. Loki stepped into the empty shop. “Stark!” He called. “Stark!” 

A middle aged man appeared from behind a curtain, looking none too pleased. “It is past business hours.” 

“How inconvenient for you then,” Loki replied, dropping the sword onto an empty table. “I wish to have this repaired.” 

The man looked him over, making no effort to hide his displeasure. “If you are thinking that I am the prince, you would be correct,” Loki informed him coldly. 

“I knew that when you walked in,” the man replied. It was a jab at him, Loki was certain, but he didn’t know why. The man sighed before picking up the hilt with a critical eye. As he moved to examine the sword, it occurred to Loki that he looked familiar. Almost like the armored man. But he saw the armored man in people everywhere. It was a mere illusion of his aching mind. 

Still. This _was_ a smithy. Surely that was the best place to find one who created armor. 

“Do you employ anyone else?” Loki asked.

“Dozens,” the man answered, turning the sword over. 

“Any who work on armor?” 

“Sure.” 

“Any that can do something unusual?” Stark leveled Loki with an unimpressed stare. “Fly, perhaps?” 

“Now why in the hell would I have one that does something like that?” Stark asked. Well, Stark certainly had the armored man’s insubordinate streak. “No one of my employees would waste their time on something so impractical and unprofitable.” It felt like a personal insult. “The sword can’t be fixed,” Stark finished abruptly. 

“Pardon me?” 

“I said it can’t be fixed.” 

“Yes, and you are clearly making a mistake,” Loki threatened. It was a sword. How difficult could it be? 

Stark shook his head, crossing his arms. “When the hilt detached, the blade was fractured. The forging technique used on this sword went out of practice thousands of years ago. It was an antique method even when it was forged. There’s no one living today that knows how to do it. I cannot recreate it as it was. Aside from gluing it back together, I can’t do a thing to fix this sword.” 

Loki took a long, deep breath. “And you’re certain that there are none here that own a suit of red and gold armor?” 

Stark shrugged. “Are you here to fix a sword or purchase armor?” At Loki’s seething he added, “No. There is no one here like that.” 

“Then I thank you for your incompetency,” Loki answered and left. 

✴ ✴ ✴

Thor would just have to accept that the sword was broken. It was not as if he had ever used it anyway. Perhaps Loki would just glue it back together himself and consider it done. Thor would never know. His mother however…Hopefully she would not check. 

Loki returned to his room, dumping the sword and hilt onto the floor by the open window. Then he took a small box of matches and began lighting each candle individually, taking time to admire the unique flame of each. By the time that the room was well lit, the moon hung at the center of his window. 

Loki grabbed a freshly stolen library book and pulled himself up onto the windowsill. He sat there, reading, trying to ignore the dread in his stomach. Thor would certainly try to get back at him if he figured it out. When he figured it out. He had thousands of years to do so, after all. 

Loki didn’t hear the burning flares until a shadowed figure caught his peripheral vision. The armored man stumbled onto the roof, but caught himself with far more grace than before. Loki’s heart raced, his cheeks flushing. Instantly, the world was surreal and dream-like. 

The man’s faceplate pulled back. “I don’t suppose you still want to hear about the suit?” 

Loki leapt off the windowsill, throwing his book away onto the bed behind him. 

“You’re late,” Loki informed him. “I did order you to stay and tell me of it.” He puffed his chest out slightly, jutting out his chin. 

The armored man laughed. “Yeah. Well, like I said, the idea of winding up naked in the town square for displeasing you doesn’t appeal. You can’t blame a guy for not rushing back. So,” he said. He walked up to the ledge without stepping in. Loki’s heart pounded so hard against his chest that he feared he might pass out. “I’ll tell you about the armor, but there are two conditions. One, you don’t tell anyone. Not about the armor, not about me.” Loki nodded. Yes, anything. Now that the armored man was here, even his best dreams paled in comparison. “And two, I want immunity from any of your so called pranks.” 

“Done,” Loki answered. The man’s face said he believed none of it, and ordinarily Loki would’ve appraised that as an indication that the man was intelligent. Tonight it just made things harder. “And as a sign of my intentions,” Loki said, eager to keep the man, “I will gift you with this.” He took one of the bracelets from his wrist. 

It was a flat, silver band with a clasp in the back. He held it out to the man. “It has my family seal on it,” he said. “It may be thought of as a pardon from me.” 

The man did not take it. Loki tilted it so that the seal in the corner caught the moonlight. He looked to the man with sharp eyes, getting impatient. “What’s to say that having that doesn’t mean I stole it?” The man asked.

Loki huffed. Then he thought about it. He supposed that the man was right. “Take it,” he said anyway. “At least it may be some form of barter for you.” 

“I think I’ll just have to take you at your word,” the armored man replied skeptically. 

They both knew that Loki could be an excellent liar. The reminder was not appreciated. 

Loki wanted to thrash out, but he knew that the man was right. Or perhaps it was just the guilt that lingered from destroying Thor’s swords that made him kind towards the man. “Please,” Loki said, placing the bracelet back onto his wrist. “Sit.” He gestured towards the open chair. 

Finally, the man came inside. He took the seat beside the window, and Loki hurriedly dragged over a chair from beside his desk. Perhaps he set it a bit too close to the man, for it drew a raised eyebrow. “Tell me about this,” Loki said, reaching across and placing his hand on the armored man’s open palm. A circular blue light outlined his own long, pale fingers. 

“That’s a repulsor,” the man answered. “It can help me fly or be aimed at things.” 

“And this?” Loki asked, dragging his finger up the metal forearm to the joint of the elbow. He pressed the tip of his finger into the vulnerable crease, a slight warmth greeting him.

“Allows it to bend,” the man answered. He moved his arm away from Loki’s hand. “It has to be flexible.” 

Loki hummed. “What makes it function?” He asked, stretching a hand towards the blue light in the man’s chest. “Magic?” 

The armored hand gently wrapped around his wrist, then directed it away. “No. I’m not a fan of magic.” Loki’s shoulders hunched inward. “Magic is something you have to be born with a talent for, but anyone can learn to make something like this,” the man said. 

“I do not believe they can,” Loki said quietly. 

“Well, at least they can learn to fly one,” the man conceded.

Loki pushed his hair back from his face, keeping his eyes cast down towards the light in the man’s chest. “Would you show me?” 

He heard the man’s lips part with a soft pop. “I—not tonight.” Loki felt his brows point downward in bitter disappointment before he could catch them and recreate his friendly mask. The man caught it too, for he shifted nervously in the chair. “You know I—what’s that?” 

Loki glanced up. The man’s soft brown eyes were set fervently on something behind him. Loki turned over his shoulder. 

The blade caught the moonlight from the shadows on the floor. 

“That,” Loki said. “Is a ruined sword. I brought it to a smithy, but they said it was beyond repair.” 

To his surprise, the armored man stood. He pushed past Loki’s knees to get to the sword, lifting it. When he turned around, Loki could see the excitement as plain as day. “I can fix it,” he said. 

“You can?” Loki asked. He purposefully sounded skeptical, but it excited him to think that this mysterious man could solve an unsolvable puzzle. 

The first true smile that Loki had seen lit the man’s face. “Yes.” 

“The technique for forging it was lost millenniums ago,” Loki said. 

“I know,” the man grinned, almost childlike in his enthusiasm. “But I’m certain that I know how they did it. I can fix this.” 

“It has magical properties.” 

“Whatever you say.” 

Loki leaned an elbow against his chair. It wouldn’t do to appear too eager. “How can you be certain that those properties won’t be lost?” 

“I can’t,” the man said, smirking at his own cheekiness. Loki found a matching smile of his own. 

It was not as if he had anything to lose. Loki wished to please the man, and granting him this would certainly do that. “How soon can you have it done?” 

The man pursed his lips. “A week?” 

For the first time, Loki wondered if he wasn’t the one being taken advantage of. Perhaps the man was just going to run off with the sword and pawn it off to the highest bidder. Even broken, it was valuable. “Three days?” Loki suggested. 

“Five days,” the man said. “If I—yeah, I think I could get it done.” 

“Then I expect to see you then,” Loki said. “If I do not…” 

The man swallowed hard. Loki was satisfied that the threat worked, even if he had no means of carrying it out against a man that he didn’t know. He narrowed his eyes. “Your name?” He asked. 

The man shook his head. “No. That—that wouldn’t be a good idea.” 

“I insist.” 

The man took one longing glance at the sword in his hands before extending it back out to Loki. “Then I cannot.” 

Loki’s chance was slipping through his fingers. “Fine,” he relented far too quickly. “If you leave me no choice but to call you—” he looked the man over, “man of iron—”

“It’s not iron, it’s an alloy—”

Loki rolled his eyes. “—then I will simply have to request that you check in with me on your progress to ensure that you have not taken off with my sword.” He’d been a fool, fretting over the return of the sword when he should’ve kept his eyes on the prize. Five days was far too short to play this game. “I will give you three weeks,” Loki said. “I do not wish for you to rush this project and create something of poor quality.” His gaze narrowed. “And I will need something from you as insurance, if you will not give me a name.” 

The man did not move or answer right away. Just as Loki began thinking he’d be refused, the man took his glove from his hand. He slipped a golden bracelet off his wrist and held it out to Loki. “This’ll have to do. And don’t you dare lose it.” 

Loki took the slender bangle. The intricate weaving pattern circling the family seal indicated that it would have belonged to a woman. Loki’s heart sank, reasoning that it was from the man’s lover. “Whose,” he started to ask, quietly. 

“My mother’s,” the man said harshly. Loki had no doubt that losing it would be avenged. 

He slipped it onto his own wrist. “I will ensure its safe return.” 

“Alright.” The man held out his hand. After a moment, Loki took it, finding the gesture quaint. They shook. 

“I expect to see you every third night,” Loki said. 

“I—” the man of iron glanced towards the window. “I mean, sometimes I might not be able to get out, but. Yeah, I’ll try for every third, but it might be every two or four to make up for it, okay?” 

Loki had never been refused quite like this, at least not by a commoner. He found the requests at accommodation strange, but here he was with the means to solve two problems at once. He should be thanking Thor for the opportunity to give him his armored man. “I will allow it,” Loki said. “Which smithy do you work at?” 

“I don’t,” the man said. “I don’t…work for anyone.” 

“What do you do?” It was unheard of for common men not to have a task. The man looked to be about Loki’s age, surely he had not survived a millennia without a duty? 

“Disappoint my father, I suppose,” the man said lightly. He glanced outside to see that the moon had left the window frame. “I should be getting back.” 

Loki restrained the urge to reach for him. “Three days.” 

“Of course, my prince.” 

Loki should’ve punished him for his insolence, he really should have. Instead he found himself grinning back. 

The iron man climbed onto the windowsill, and this time when he took off, Loki felt no small sense of triumph. 

✴ ✴ ✴

Now that the iron man was within his grasp, Loki’s mood improved ten fold. He charmed his way back into Thor’s good graces with a tear jerking apology that even his mother believed. Then he spent his free hours puzzling over how he could bring the iron man completely within his grip. 

The iron man was utterly entrancing, and Loki was not willing to let such a creature go. He traced his fingers along the gold band on his wrist. It was tangible evidence that the iron man was real. And, if Loki would admit it, not far at all from a romantic gesture. Lovers frequently wore the other’s family bracelet.

He researched the intricate design and seal on the bracelet, expecting it to indicate the family it had come from, but there were no records of it. 

In a way, Loki liked that better. It only meant that the iron man had more secrets to give him. 

Loki brushed a single finger across the golden metal. It was worn, but not in a way that suggested neglect. If Loki had to bet, he would faithfully say that the man had worn this bracelet everyday of his life. For hundreds of years the man had been wearing this very bracelet, and now it was on Loki’s wrist. He held it up to the sunlight, smiling to himself as it caught the light. 

Its craftsmanship was superior, that much Loki could tell. He wondered what sort of family the crest belonged to. Was it a family that would accept and love him? Surely, it had to be a kind family. 

He set his nose just to the side of the bracelet, pretending that he wasn’t trying to pick up the man’s scent. It had been on his wrist too long and touched by him too frequently to retain any such thing, but that didn’t stop him from wishing. 

He smiled to himself again, watching the bracelet from the corner of his eye and enjoying its weight against his skin. He imagined the man gifting it to him and taking Loki’s in return. Not once that afternoon did he tire of the game. 

✴ ✴ ✴

On the night of the man’s first anticipated return, Loki retired to his room even earlier than usual and lit the candles. He put on his best robe, running his fingers down the collar and popping it open just enough to tease. Then he sunk into the chair beside the window with a book and an air of complete aloofness. 

Loki had already decided what would happen. 

The iron man would land gracefully upon the windowsill, slipping the helmet free and tossing his thick hair back. Then he’d hit Loki with a rakish stare, waiting for permission to be invited in. Loki would wait. It wouldn’t do to be desperate. 

He’d extend his hands, brushing his fingers against the iron man’s as he took the helmet from them. Loki would turn it over as if assessing it, watching all the while as the iron man’s eyes wandered over him in heavy lust, thinking the prince preoccupied. 

“Would you like to keep it, my prince?” The iron man would nod towards the helmet. “It’s yours.” 

“Have you no need of it?” Loki would ask, the perfect icon of majestic benevolence. 

“I have need of other things,” the iron man would answer demurely, averting his eyes. 

“And I wish to keep other things,” Loki would answer, setting the helmet down. “Come inside.” 

The iron man would reach for Loki’s hands, seeking balance, and stumble against his chest. “M-my apologies,” he would stammer, flushing. 

“There is no need to apologize,” Loki would boldly say, setting a hand upon the armored man’s back. “This limits your movement. Perhaps you would be better without it.” 

“How wise you are.” All too eagerly the iron man would agree, abandoning his armor in a slow show, disassembling each piece as Loki admired the athletic body beneath. “My prince,” the man would say. “There is something that I have been meaning to tell you.” 

Loki would do nothing but lift an eyebrow. The man would look to him a bit helplessly before admitting, “I wish to tell you my name.” 

Fighting back a grin, Loki would incline his head. “Then do so.” 

The man would step over his armor, standing before Loki with trepidation. “I meant to do it sooner,” he would say. “But my prince, you are—” He would run his fingers through his hair, unintentionally flaunting how handsome he was. “Prince Loki, the greatest mage in all the realms and our beloved Prince—”

“Enough,” Loki would say, sparing him. “Your name.” 

The man would step closer, lifting to his toes to whisper into Loki’s ear. Loki’s eyes would fall shut, a deep satisfaction filling him to his core. “I searched,” he would tell the man. “I spent hour upon hour in the libraries, seeking the origin of the family crest upon your bracelet, but there was no record. I donned a disguise and investigated every jeweler, but they were as bewildered as I.” 

Loki would set his hands upon the man’s waist, and the man would accept it with a shuddered breath. “Perhaps it is time that you tell me your secrets,” Loki would purr. “What star did you come from, my little wanderer?” He would ask, the man leaning into his grip. 

“Please,” he would say, looking up through those thick eyelashes, “Prince Loki.” 

Loki would understand, pulling him in without another word. There would be time for the man to tell of his secrets later, when he was not desperate with desire. After all, what sort of prince would Loki be if he were so cruel as to refuse this man his need? 

As dusk pulled color from the sky, Loki felt a rush of deep anticipation. 

The first stars appeared. 

And others. 

Until the sky was full of twinkling lights and a moon, but no iron man. 

Loki snapped the book shut. 

Perhaps this was one of the nights in which he couldn’t come. Perhaps he would come the next night. Or, he had run off with the sword and would never appear again. 

Loki rose from his chair and took a step towards his bed. Just who was he, waiting on the return of this armored man? What did it matter? The iron man was just some commoner, some man with a penchant for well-crafted, sleek, glorious designs that alluded to a similar physique below. After all, he had to be strong to bear the weight of such an armor, but the body of it did not suggest an over endowment of muscle in the way of his brother’s friends. Not that it mattered. 

Loki tugged at the robe, pressing its collar to his lips in worry. 

It was then that he heard the flare of a thruster, and looked up just as the man landed on his windowsill. “Am I interrupting something?” The faceplate flew back to reveal that same smug face. “Because I can go, wouldn’t want to get in between you and yourself—”

“I had forgotten that you were coming,” Loki answered, snidely brushing a lock of hair behind his ear. He strode to the windowsill, allowing the moonlight to wash over his chest. He did not miss the way the man’s dark eyes wandered down to the folded V of his robe and paused below his waist. “How does it progress?” 

“Great,” the man answered. “You should see the way that it sings. It’s incredible. It reminds me of a sword I did a few years ago. I never got an age on it, but it was something special. I tried to talk the owner into giving it up, but that was a lost cause.” He stopped, setting his hand on his hip. The excitement snuffed out. “But I’ll have it done next week.” 

“Come inside,” Loki said. 

The man grimaced, casting a suspicious glance over the room. “Now,” Loki demanded. “I won’t have you spotted by the guards outside.” The man held his breath. He pressed his lips together, and then to Loki’s pleasure, stepped in. 

The iron man leaned against the windowsill and did not accept Loki’s gesture towards the chair. Loki stood beside a cluster of tiered candles, their light flickering across his features in an array of shifting shadows. “Is your father the Stark that works at the smithy the army patronizes?” 

The man didn’t move. Loki couldn’t see his reaction until he turned his face. The man grinned. “Womanizer that drinks like a fish? That one?” The iron man rubbed at his nose with his armored glove. “Nah. That’s not my father.” 

Loki had inquired, but it did not seem that Stark had a son. There had been no record. The similarity must have been a trick of his mind after all. 

Loki picked at a bead of wax as it slid down the candle. It pooled on his fingernail. He knew better than to push the man further for a name. “You work for none, and yet you clearly have a fine knowledge of forging.” 

“I should go.” 

Loki took a deep breath. He was scarring the man off. “Stay.” He flicked the wax from his nail. “You never finished telling me of your armor.” 

The man’s lips parted. What would they feel like beneath his fingers? Would he welcome them with doe-like, submissive eyes, or take them as a challenge to his own power, spurring him on? “I—I don’t know what else to tell you about it.” 

“Why did you create it?” 

When no reply came, Loki turned to see the man’s eyes following his fingers along the candle trail of wax. Yet, despite the contentment and anticipation that Loki felt at having the man close, he saw none of it reflected in the man’s expression. It was fear that he watched Loki’s fingers with. 

“I was bored,” the man answered, throat strained. “I have to go.” 

“Where to?” Loki asked, feigning nothing but polite curiosity. 

The man shook his head, vehemently this time. “No. I—I’ll be back in three days with your sword.” 

“I gave you three weeks.” 

The man smiled, but Loki could see now that it was fake. “What can I say? I’m a genius. I’ll have it done.” He slammed the faceplate shut. Loki took a step towards him, but the man was already boosting himself up onto the ledge. He was gone before Loki could get out a word. 

Loki snuffed the candles in one bitter huff, his magic ricocheting through the room. A cloud of smoke wafted out the window and trailed up like a chimney. 

Loki sunk onto his bed, boiling inside. 

He had envisioned many things happening tonight, but none of them involved awkward silences and an uneasy guest. 

✴ ✴ ✴

Whenever possible, Loki avoided the palace dinner. There was no one in the dining hall that he particularly wished to see, but he could only miss so often without upsetting his mother. Tonight he had attended. 

Thor had his swords back, so Loki figured that he was in the clear. Nothing had been said about the one missing. If Thor hadn’t noticed, it wouldn’t surprise Loki. Thor hadn’t brought it up during Loki’s apology. 

He poked at his empty bowl, keeping an eye on Thor and his friends from his peripheral vision. They were telling the story of some hunt for the hundredth time. 

Loki sighed, waiting for the moment that they would become bored and leave so that he could make his exit without any hassle. It took a while, but then their boisterous voices disappeared into the corridor. Loki vanished from the table as softly as silk, sidestepping a request for attention from a court member and slipping out into the hall. 

The iron man would be coming to his window tonight and Loki was going to get it right this time. 

Perhaps the iron man would invite Loki for a ride through the stars, holding him firmly to his chest as they leapt skyward. The clouds would part for them as they passed the moon, and the iron man would lift his faceplate, face flushed and hair wind tousled as he grinned at Loki. He’d lean in close, lips a soft breath away from Loki’s ears, and ask Loki for something that would be given in a heartbeat. 

“Loki.” 

The tall god froze, then turned back with a hardened glare towards Fandral. “Don’t look so cross,” the blonde cooed. “We were just going to invite you to spar with us.” 

Sif and Volstagg were there, but not Thor. As if reading his mind Fandral said, “Thor left with Hogun for a ride at the stables.” 

Loki angled his torso, one hand in a fist and ready to fight, the other a moment away from pulling a dagger. “I would hate to injure you,” Loki said. “In your best interests, I must decline.” 

Fandral pressed a hand to his chest. “Such little faith in my talents! Really Loki, you should know better.” He walked forward as he spoke, flirtatiously close. Loki took a step back towards the wall. 

“He doesn’t want to get his ass kicked,” Sif said behind him. “You know he’d cheat with magic anyway.” 

Volstagg laughed beside her. “It’s the only way he knows how to win.” 

Fury uncoiled in Loki, his ire directing itself towards Sif and ignoring Fandral’s advancement. No matter how many times he heard that taunt, it never ceased to wound. “It must burn you to watch me excel at an art that eludes you so thoroughly,” he spat at her. “It’s a shame that all you’re good for is fighting. Perhaps if you had an iota of charm or beauty, Thor would finally turn his attention toward you—”

“I will rip your spine from you, you snake-like little—”

Loki’s back hit the wall as Fandral threw himself between the prince and the warrior. “Save it for sparring—” Fandral started. Sif howled, slamming into the floor, Loki’s magic dragging her down. Fandral shot him an admonishing look, but Loki only smiled back. He went to strike Fandral, but in the same moment, he realized his wrist was bare. 

“Now what is this?” Fandral asked, hopping back from the wall with unnatural dexterity. The band caught the light as he played with it like a cat, tossing it from hand to hand as he inspected it. Loki’s vision tunneled. The iron man’s bracelet. If he lost it, if he lost it then— “Oh, a woman’s insignia? A secret lover? After all my advances? Darling, I have to say, I am spurned.” 

“It can’t be a woman’s,” Sif said, picking herself up from the floor. “No one would ever choose Loki.” 

“Stole it, perhaps?” Volstagg suggested. “It could be some instrument in blackmail.” 

“Give it back,” Loki growled. 

“Or what?” Sif jeered. “You’ll tell Thor?” She was right, Loki knew she was right. There was no point in arguing about it. He’d just have to take on who he could and get out in time to make a run for it. Hopefully they wouldn’t all charge in at once. But the bracelet was delicate. He had to be careful. 

He tried for a threat to buy time. “Or I’ll have you brought before the All-Father.” Loki followed the golden bracelet as it bounced back and forth between Fandral’s hands. 

There was a laugh, but he didn’t know from who. He lunged at Fandral, stunning him with lithe precision and catching the bracelet before it hit the floor. It was slipped over his wrist a moment before his fist struck Sif’s stomach. So much for running. Like lightning, they struck the ground and descended into a vicious fight until Volstagg pulled him off screaming and kicking. 

“You’re a monster!” Sif shrieked at him. Fandral held her back, pinning her arms. “We all know what you are! Your own family’s ashamed of you! Thor hates you!” 

Loki heaved for a breath, desperate in his rage to wound Sif the way she had him. 

Heavy, armored footsteps rounded the corner. The guards. Volstagg pushed him forward. Loki felt blood hit his lips. “We should go,” Fandral said. They scattered, Loki included. 

Loki barely made it around the corner when a guard spotted him, eyes going wide in concern. “My prince, are you alright—”

“Fine!” Loki shouted, brushing past him and hiding the bloody nose and stained clothes with his arm. His room was not far off. He slammed the door behind himself and sunk down to the floor by his bed as everything came crashing down. 

They all hated him. 

Everyone. From Thor to the village down below, he had no one. Not even the iron man would look on him without fear and disgust. He _was_ a monster. He was going to spend his entire life alone, locked up in this room, with no way out. No one would ever want him. 

He tried comforting himself with visions of taking the throne someday, but they didn’t work. Nothing worked. 

He dissolved into a bitter, sobbing mess against the side of the bed. His sobs heaved and shrieked until he tasted nothing of the blood on his face any longer, just salt. He rubbed his sleeve against his face and sat there, quietly leaking tears with his head resting against the bed. 

He was pathetic. 

Loki closed his eyes. 

Of course he was pathetic. He was a monster that was so desperate for attention that he had tricked the iron man into coming to see him. The iron man would never take him for a ride in the sky. Why would he want to? He’d lost interest the moment he’d figured out that it was Loki that he was speaking to. 

And Loki had spent weeks trying to find him because he was pathetic. 

Loki slumped against the side of the bed, exhausted and hollow. 

He didn’t hear the soft landing on the roof. The iron man carefully approached the windowsill, then peered inside. He spotted the hunched over form of the prince against the bed, his leg twisted out at an uncomfortable and unnatural angle. “My prince—” The man started nervously, approaching the bed. 

Loki’s head snapped up, a mix of utter mortification and fear. He scrambled to stand, frantically rubbing at his face. The iron man’s own face paled. “Are you okay?” He asked, somewhat breathlessly. 

“Yes,” Loki gritted out. He threw a glamour over his face, but it was too late. The iron man had seen. Loki’s eyes snapped towards him, but it was his turn to be shocked. 

A muddy, purple bruise haloed the iron man’s eye. Loki reacted before he could stop himself. “What happened to you?” He demanded, reaching a hand for the man’s face. The texture of his beard was pleasant beneath Loki’s fingers as he turned the man’s face to the side, trying to examine it in the moonlight. With a huff, Loki snapped his fingers. All of the candles in the room struck to life. 

The iron man smiled as he turned his face to the side, his jaw slipping free from Loki’s fingers in the motion. “Yeah. My old man wasn’t exactly pleased with me. But he won’t remember it in the morning anyway.” The iron man brushed his hand against the thigh of his suit. “I’ll tell him I got it screwing around in the forge.” 

“What was he angry with you for?” Loki asked, realizing as he did that his voice was hoarse and wobbling. 

“I guess he didn’t like finding this,” the iron man said. He reached behind himself, grabbing the sword and presenting it to Loki. The cloth dropped back. Loki gasped. 

It was absolutely stunning. 

The craftsmanship was far better than when he had given it to the iron man to create. He couldn’t give it back to Thor. It was far too precious. 

“I didn’t expect him to be back and poking around,” the iron man said. “Is it—okay?” 

“More than that,” Loki said reverently, turning it over. 

The magic inside of it was _singing_. It sung to the magic residing inside of Loki, bringing it to life and playing as if it were an old friend. “I am thinking that I cannot part with it,” Loki said. 

“What?” The iron man asked. 

“I—this was not mine,” Loki said. “It was gifted to my brother. I broke it.” 

“Your brother—but it has magic,” the iron man said. “Or, something. I mean, clearly, it should be yours.” 

Loki wasn’t sure that he’d heard correctly. He turned, staring at the man a fraction too long. “I notice things when I’m working with them,” the iron man said. “And that sword—it suits you.” 

Loki lowered the sword onto his bed. He would duplicate it later and place the copy in his brother’s armory. “Why was your father upset when he found it?” Loki asked, navigating away from the discomfort of a compliment he didn’t know how to accept. 

The iron man let out a long, exasperated sigh. “Why do you think?” He asked, tone illegible. 

Loki sat down beside the sword. He was too wrung out to go on standing. Loki had no idea who this man’s father was, or what would drive him to anger. He glanced at the man and was annoyed to be reminded of Stark in his forge again.

The iron man shifted his weight uncomfortably. “He didn’t like this particular extracurricular project,” the iron man said. 

“I am sorry,” Loki said honestly, for once in his life. “I did not mean to endanger you.” It stung. He could not look the man in the face. 

“Not your fault,” the iron man said lightly. “You couldn’t have known what he’d do. And anyway, I wanted to fix that sword so bad. I haven’t gotten to work on something that challenging in ages.” 

The bruise around his eye made him tangible and real, less like the daydream that Loki’s mind had turned the man into. He smiled at Loki, and there was something pure about it that made Loki’s chest ache. “Won’t you tell me your name?” Loki plead softly. 

“What’s the blood on your shirt from?” Loki licked his lips. This man was skilled at changing the topic too. “I told you how I got mine,” the iron man reminded him. “Who got you in the nose?” 

“My brother’s friends,” Loki admitted reluctantly. 

“Won’t your brother—”

“Say I deserved it? Yes.” Loki took a deep breath. Thor may just as easily come to his aid, but he wouldn’t be telling and neither would Thor’s friends. “I destroyed his swords out of spite. This was the only one I could not fix,” he said, setting his hand upon the blade. Its magic thrummed through him, settling and reassuring. 

Loki reached for his wrist. He slipped the bracelet off, holding it outstretched towards the man. “Why’d they go after you?” The iron man asked, sliding the bracelet back into place. Loki watched the golden band with longing. His wrist felt naked without it.

“Vengeance is as good an excuse as any I suppose,” Loki mumbled. He startled when he felt a hand at his jaw, then froze. Loki held his breath, unwilling to let the touch slip from him, but not at the cost of his pride. 

“You’re bleeding.” The iron man’s fingers slid up his face, slicking with blood. The man held his hand up, inspecting it in the moonlight. “Why can’t I see that?” 

“I’ve hidden it,” Loki said bitterly, jerking his head when the man reached for him a second time. 

His hand recoiled at the rejection. He held the prince’s gaze for a moment, serious and firm. “How bad is it?” 

Loki was struck by the question, but recovered quickly enough. “You saw when you dropped in.” 

“You might not have realized, but your room isn’t exactly bright.” The iron man chuckled a bit. “I’m starting to think you have something against advances in lighting technology.” 

Loki turned his face away, more out of instinct than the fear that the man would see past the glamour. As if to spite his composure, a drop of blood slid down his chin and fell onto his hand. 

“Let me see it.” 

“It’s nothing.” 

“Right.” 

The iron man turned away, his face inadvertently angled so that all Loki could see was the injured eye. Loki stared downwards, wretched guilt slipping in where his wounded pride had been. He held his breath for a moment, then let the glamor drop. 

“There,” Loki said, glaring at the floor. “Now you’ve seen,” he said bitterly. 

He flinched when warm fingers set against his face. Every muscle in his body had gone tight. “They got you right in the middle,” the iron man said, the faint rumble of anger sliding into his tone like distant thunder. It confused Loki, as did the kindness radiating from the calloused fingertips. The iron man made a soft sound between his tongue and teeth. “It’s starting to swell.” 

Immediately, Loki set a hand to his face. He hadn’t even realized how much it hurt until now. “Here,” the iron man said. He ejected a small compartment from within the suit. Loki stared at the iron man, wondering where his rightful suspicion had gone and where this kindness was coming from. Cold settled against his nose, and belatedly Loki realized that the man was holding an ice pack against it. 

“Thank you,” he said, waking from his stupor and moving to hold the ice to his own nose.

“You probably think I fly this thing perfectly, but I’ve had a couple bumps. It pays to have first aid on hand.” 

Loki surprised himself with a small, genuine laugh. “I can imagine.” 

The iron man smiled in return, extending a cloth pad towards Loki. 

Loki wiped the blood from his face, skin tingling with what felt like a disinfectant. An ease sunk in, soothing an ache that had been left unattended for far too long. 

“Does this happen a lot?” The iron man asked, and just like that, Loki was broken from his reverie. 

“Often enough,” he snapped. 

“Hey,” the man barked back. “I’m trying to help.” 

Loki meant to rebuke him, but the reprimand fizzled out. Instead, Loki dropped the hand with the bloody cloth to his side, expression morose. “That’s, uh, maybe you should see someone. It looks bad,” the iron man said. 

Loki pressed his lips together. “I can take care of it,” he said. Loki set the ice pack on his knee, ignoring the cold that sank in. He set his fingers to his face, the swollen flesh tender to the touch. Tony gasped. 

“How’d you—”

“Magic,” Loki cut him off. His nose was fine now. “It has some petty use, I suppose.” 

The iron man huffed out a laugh. “I guess,” he conceded with a hint of envy. 

Loki set the icepack onto his bed. 

“Thank you,” Loki started, at the same time that the man spoke. 

“You didn’t have to hide that.”

Loki gave him a strange look, suspicion creeping in. “I mean,” the man corrected himself, “I guess, if I could’ve done that to my face I would’ve, but—showing it…” The man’s words tapered off as he awkwardly crossed his arms in the metal suit. “They deserve to know what they did.” 

“Oh, so you wish for me to flaunt my failure as a warrior for the others to see and mock?” Loki sniped, curling his fingers into his knees. “As you’ll recall, you meant to lie on the source of your injures as well.” 

“I’m sorry,” the man said. His eyes darted across the room and he took a step back. “I don’t know what point I was trying to make.” His arms fell to his sides. “You’re alright though?” 

“Yes.” 

“That’s good,” the man mumbled. “I should go—”

“They meant to take your mother’s bracelet,” Loki interjected. The man’s posture stiffened. He turned to take in Loki more seriously. “I had told you I meant to protect it and I…” Loki licked his lips, a faint heat crawling along his cheeks. “Meant to keep that promise.” 

“I thought they were getting back at you for busting your brother’s swords,” the man said wearily. 

“At the start,” Loki said. In truth, boredom had probably spurred on their pursuit of him as much as anything else. He spun a circlet of green magic in his hands, cupping it between them in a nervous attempt to soothe himself that he’d had for centuries. 

He didn’t mean for the man to gasp and stumble back, and was equally surprised when he stepped forward. “Show me how you do that,” the man demanded. 

Loki glanced up at him, his neck and the outlines of his face lit by a soft, green glow. “Surely you have seen magic before.” 

“As a tool,” the man answered. “You’re…playing with it, aren’t you?” 

Loki smiled, though he wasn’t sure why. “Yes,” he answered. The circled morphed into a wave, rocking back and forth between his fingers like the tides. 

“Hold still,” the man said. He held out his palm. A blue light emitted in a straight, thin line, cresting over the green. “Wow,” the man said, suddenly delighted. “That’s cool.” 

“What is?” Loki asked, turning to him with quiet pleasure at the praise. 

“The energy’s spiking but it’s controlled, I mean it’s like a perfect equation the way it’s doing that. Here, look.” He held up his other hand, projecting a chart from it that was not unlike that of a heartbeat. 

Loki had to admit, it was a bit intriguing. 

“What else can you make?” 

Loki’s eyebrows pushed together as he considered the question. None had ever asked him before. After a moment’s deliberation, he created a small horse, pacing across his fingers with a high stepped trot. “Hmm,” the man said, before laughing slightly. The chart had morphed into rather sporadic, abstract series of lines. 

The horse shifted into a series of fish, spiraling around his hands. 

The man leaned in closer, clearly intrigued. It was a bit exhilarating. He’d never shown off his tricks to an interested audience before. 

The fish glided out a further, circling the iron man’s hand once before morphing into a flock of birds and coming to land on Loki’s palm. 

He was so entranced with himself and the attention the iron man was giving him that he didn’t realize his magic started playing of its own desire. Two figures stood there, perfectly resembling the pair of them. They took a step in towards each other before Loki caught himself. The show vanished instantly. 

“It is an amusement,” Loki said, rubbing his nose. 

“It’s a bit more than that,” the iron man said with awe. He still leaned in close, and Loki became all too aware of the negligible distance between them. He swallowed, involuntarily staring at the man’s lips. 

“Just tricks.” Loki stared down at his hands, a flush crawling up his neck. 

“Well,” the man said, grinning without doing anything to pull away, “I like it a lot better than your other tricks.” 

His magic had never earned him such adoration. He was staring at the man’s lips again, it couldn’t be helped. It was better than getting thrown into a daze looking into those brown eyes. “Thank you,” he told the smooth pair of lips, freezing as a tongue peeked out and swept nervously across them. 

“Got anything else you can do?”

Loki tore his eyes away from the man’s mouth. He mustered up a haughty, “I think that’s enough of my tricks, don’t you?” Then, realizing he’d been harsh, he panicked and added, “What of your tricks? Surely you have something to show me?” 

The man paused, pressing those pillowy lips together. “Just one,” he decided. He leaned in closer just as Loki opened his mouth a crack, trying to breathe in the cool air and steady himself. 

For a split second their eyes met, the man’s soft and curious, Loki’s sharp but attentive, if not uncertain. Then he leaned in and before Loki could process it, he was moaning into the mouth he’d lusted after for weeks. He dug his fingers into the man’s short scruff, finally, _finally_ learning what it felt like to drag his nails down the man’s scalp as he fervently explored across sharp teeth and an equally eager tongue. The man groaned, setting his hand on Loki’s waist. 

Loki thought to pull the man into his lap, but no sooner had the desire crossed his mind than the hand at his waist disappeared. The man pushed at Loki’s shoulder, breaking away. 

He was short on breath, his lips slicked and slightly swollen. The man’s eyebrows pulled together, resembling pity. Loki’s stomach churned. “This—” The man took a shuddering breath. “Is a bad idea.” 

Loki tightened his grip at the base of the man’s neck. “Only if you think it is.” 

“No,” the man said, scratching his forehead. “I wasn’t thinking. I—I can’t. You’re a prince and I’m—I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He started backing away. Loki’s hand fell from him like dead weight. 

“Loki, you don’t want—” The man started. “Me. Trust me. I’m—this is a bad idea.” 

“Have I not made it clear that I want you?” Loki snapped. 

“Yes, believe me, but I’m—”

“Insolent and ungrateful,” Loki finished for him. His voice was starting to climb. Something for the servants to gossip about tomorrow, then.

The man’s lips curled back indignantly before he said, “No. Because I’m just a bastard son and you’re—” He became unkind, returning Loki’s wounded anger. “The prince that throws his toys away when he’s done with them.” He took a step back towards the window. 

A dozen pleas leapt into Loki’s throat, but he held them all there, throat tightening. He glowered at the man, heart breaking as he took another receding step. 

Loki’s hands curled into fists as his sides. 

The man stepped up to the window. The wind caught his hair, and his expression was nothing short of mournful as he stared at Loki. For a moment they held one another’s gaze, both too stubborn to do anything. Then the man’s faceplate snapped down. His thrusters flared and he disappeared into the night, as brief and elusive as a shooting star. 

✴ ✴ ✴

Loki’s temperament became insufferable. Crying servants became a daily occasion, pushed and barked at until they broke into fearful tears. Thor’s friends stayed clear of him after a stray remark about his mystery lover ditching him ended with Fandral getting a broken nose. 

_You’re the prince that throws his toys away when he’s done with them_ ran through Loki’s mind on repeat. He brooded on it until he stopped hating the man for saying it and started regretting the actions that lead up to that reputation instead. He had well and truly ruined things for himself, and it was driving him insane. 

In a couple of weeks Odin, unquestionably at his mother’s insistence, was demanding his presence at every banal palace procedure. Being babysat like a raging toddler did nothing to improve his mood. 

Loki simply sat in a decadent chair adjacent to the throne, draped arrogantly across it as if it was all so far beneath him that he couldn’t bear it. Visitors naturally avoided acknowledging him directly, keeping their praises effusive but short, and exiting as quickly as possible. 

It was one such afternoon that Loki was sitting there when the arms representative entered, there to present a new innovation. Stark walked tall into the room, lacking none of the gruff indifference that he’d had when Loki had met him in the forge. He spoke directly to the All Father, promising that his newest invention would be one of his greatest with intolerable showmanship. 

Loki wanted to pin him to the ground and claw at his face. He looked like the iron man. Older, ganglier, but remarkably similar. 

Oh, how he wanted to tackle him to the floor and ruin that pretty face.

“It is in its infancy, but I believe a few specially decorated officers would appreciate the upgrade. I intend to have a more basic model for ground soldiers in a few months. Shall I bring in the samples?” Stark asked, barely waiting for a nod from the All Father before gesturing towards the door. 

Three armored suits entered. 

Loki’s blood ran cold. He couldn’t move, or breathe. 

_The iron man._

There was no mistaking the design. 

“Repulsors that can fire forty rounds in—” Loki sat up straight, the words muffling in his ears. His heart thudded against his breastbone. _He knew that face as intimately as his own. Was the iron man inside one of those suits?_

He examined each one. They weren’t the right color. No, they were all garish gold with no taste, but that didn’t mean that one of them didn’t hold the iron man. The man had to be inside one of them. Even though these models seemed taller than him, broader, but in a way that felt tacked on like an afterthought. 

He heard Odin say something but made no sense of it. 

Stark gestured at one of the suits. It turned around, allowing Stark to elaborate about a detail on the spine. 

“STOP!” Loki flinched. “THOSE DON’T BELONG TO YOU!” The cry echoed in the great hall. Loki scanned the room for the source. There was a commotion at the door. The guards struggled to hold back a man. “THOSE AREN’T HIS TO SELL!” His iron man thrashed and flailed in the guards’ arms, face wrecked with utter despair. 

Loki shivered, unnerved. He hadn’t expected to encounter the man again. 

“Who is this?” Odin asked Stark. 

Stark’s attention was on the door. “Anthony,” he warned. “You have no business being here.” 

_Anthony. His name had been Anthony._

Stark ignored Anthony’s screams, turning back to the All Father coldly. “He is a laborer in my shop. He has no right to these suits. They were made in my forge.” Odin said nothing. 

“YOU STOLE THOSE!” The man was beside himself, crying out in panic. He bucked against the guards’ firm grip. “I WON’T LET YOU TAKE MY SUITS, THEY’RE MINE—”

Loki was standing. He had not felt himself rise. 

“Let him in,” Loki demanded, voice merciless and cruel. One of the guards let go. Anthony stumbled out onto the floor, scraping his knees. He scrambled to get up. 

“All Father,” Anthony said quickly, keeping his head bowed. “Prince Loki.” No one rushed to speak. Anthony waited for a few moments before starting, “Please. I invented the Iron Man—” his eyes darted to Loki, appearing guilty. “Suits. They’re not meant to be used for war, my father stole the design and bastardized them—”

“I was not under the impression that Stark had a son,” the All Father said. 

Anthony turned towards his father, saying nothing. His face was flushed a deep red, though whether that was from the screaming or shame, Loki could not decide. 

Stark curled a hand around his chin, barely restraining the livid flare in his eyes before he answered indifferently. “I never recognized him.” He shrugged. “His mother was a wh—”

“Don’t talk about my mother!” Anthony yelled over him, taking several quick steps in his direction. 

“Stop,” the All Father commanded. Anthony did, though it seemed to take everything in him to do so. “Howard Stark. Are these suits the creation of this young man?” 

“Anything created in my forge belongs to me,” Howard said. “It’s true for all of my engineers. He is no different.” 

“Is he officially employed by you?” Loki cut in, knowing these sorts of games all too well. 

“No,” Anthony answered for him. Howard did not correct him. 

“Then he has no binding contract with you,” Loki said. “If you allowed him use of your forge, that was at your will and discretion. The suits are not yours to sell.” He glanced back over his shoulder, but for once Odin had the sense not to contradict him. If Loki had been an optimist, he would’ve said that Odin was slightly impressed. Howard opened his mouth to argue, but Loki wouldn’t have it. “Anthony Stark,” he said, relishing the name on his tongue. 

“Mariason,” Anthony told him, licking his lip after he’d spoken. He looked slightly like a whipped dog, unsure of himself but unable to back down. 

“Anthony Mariason,” Loki said. “Are these suits for sale to be used in Asgard’s army?” 

Anthony stared at the floor before finally meeting his eyes. “No,” he said. 

Loki rose to his full height. “Then,” he said, his voice echoing across the great hall. “Howard Stark, you are to return the suits and all materials relating to them to him.” 

“That’s—” Howard started. 

“Silence,” Loki said. Howard quieted, but the hate in his eyes was clear. “Is it safe to presume that you are in need of employment, Anthony Mariason?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then you will move into the palace’s Department of Sciences. Asgard would be foolish to let a talented mind such as that which could create these suits go to waste.” Loki resisted smirking at the dumbfounded slack in Anthony’s face. Loki turned towards the throne. “If this pleases you father,” he added tersely. 

“It does,” he said, tone peculiar. “Howard Stark,” he said, sounding more like himself, “I will decide upon the need for proper disciplinary action at a later time. You are dismissed.” 

Anthony watched his father go, oblivious to Loki walking up behind him. Loki stopped just to his side. “Your duties will begin immediately,” Loki said. “You may leave and gather your things. I expect you back here in two hours. Guards,” Loki called. “Escort this man to his home and assure that he has no trouble in collecting his things.” 

Anthony stared wide eyed at him, apparently too stricken to know what to say. 

“You know where to find me,” Loki muttered too low for others to hear, staring straight ahead and barely moving his lips. “I expect to see you tonight.” 

Loki smiled at the approaching guards. He took a step back and resumed sitting in his chair, returning his father’s approving nod. This was the one time he had acted as brashly as Thor, and it was winning him Odin’s admiration. 

The farming dispute that followed wasn’t nearly so entertaining. 

✴ ✴ ✴

There was no dread or doubt when Loki sat at the window that night, a content smile playing at his lips. He wasn’t angry at the iron man anymore. Anthony. 

He heard the suit land on the roof before he saw Anthony step into view beside the open window. “Hi,” Anthony said sheepishly. 

“Come in,” Loki said. 

“Or the guards will seize me for sneaking into the prince’s room?” 

“They’ll recognize you,” Loki pointed out, ruining the joke. “I would be impressed if the entire palace has not heard word of what occurred this afternoon already,” Loki said. Anthony’s brow furrowed. “Let them know,” Loki said. “I care nothing for their thoughts anyway.” He gave Anthony an impatient smile. “Come inside.” 

Anthony was a bit unsteady as he entered, and hadn’t lost a fraction of that whipped dog look. It was beginning to grate on Loki’s nerves. Anthony considered the chair for a moment before frowning at Loki, holding his hands together in front of him. “Sit down,” Loki said with a sigh. “And cease acting as if I am about to ingest you whole.” 

“They always did say you were a snake,” Anthony said, laughing nervously. “Joking,” he added a moment later, frightened. 

“I know what they say,” Loki said, tilting his head to the side without mirth. “May I ask why you look upon me as if am a different man? Did I not save you this afternoon?” 

“You want something, right?” Tony asked his knees. “They usually do.” 

Loki pouted his lips, glaring slightly. “And what do you expect me to ask of you?” He asked carefully. 

“Weapons,” Anthony said quietly. “Tools.” 

“That is not why I assigned you to the Department of Sciences.” 

Anthony didn’t seem to believe him. “I,” Loki said, leaning his hip against the windowsill and crossing his arms, “Genuinely believe your mind has been put to waste, moonlighting in the forge of that pitiful excuse for a father that you have.” 

“He’s not the worst I could’ve gotten.”

“He will lose all of his military contracts,” Loki promised. “I will see to it.” There was a protective reproach written in Anthony’s eyes, but it was an argument for another time. “I do want something from you, but it is entirely unrelated to your position within the department.”

Loki’s arms tensed as he watched a star just above the horizon. “I have given thought to what you said,” he admitted. “And I—acknowledge that I have been—careless with those I have—indulged in the past.” Loki breathed in deeply through his nose. “Therefore, I promise you that no matter what becomes of our relations, your position within the Department of Sciences will not be jeopardized.” 

Anthony sat back in the chair, holding onto the armrests. “Are you—you saw me today. Do you really—want me?” 

This time, Loki let him know just how much of an idiot he was being with a single look. “It’s just,” Anthony started. “I don’t have anything to offer. I don’t even have a family title, and you’re a prince.” 

“You are a member of Asgard’s prestigious Department of Sciences,” Loki said blatantly. “And as for your family title—I am not one to hold a family title in such great esteem,” he admitted quietly. Maybe someday, Loki would tell him the truth of his origins. Perhaps. 

“Really?” 

“I am second guessing my assessment of your intellect, Anthony.” 

“Please,” he said. “Call me Tony. I don’t like that name.” 

“Tony,” Loki repeated. Yes, that was beautiful. And his to call Anthony by. 

Tony smiled, the weight lifting from his shoulders. “That was impressive today.” 

Loki allowed the praise to please him until he couldn’t bear it. “You have slipped from my grasp far too many times,” he said. 

“Maybe I’ll stay this time,” Tony answered. There was a glimpse of something else in him, something intriguing but wild. For the first time, Loki got the impression that he didn’t know all that this man was capable of. 

There would be plenty of time to find out, however. Loki mirrored his step closer. “Can we start up where we left off, before I let thinking get in the way?” Tony asked, sounding too demanding and certain for one speaking to a prince. 

Loki let out a breath. “I insist.” 

Loki’s arms encircled Tony as warm, pliant lips met his own. He would not lose him again. Not to the night sky, or Howard Stark, or public opinion. Of that much he was certain.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to xjapanda for talented and lovely artwork [here](http://xjapanda.tumblr.com/post/153359084494/art-1-for-2016-frostiron-bang-and-here-is-the) and [here](http://xjapanda.tumblr.com/post/153359092259/art-2-for-2016-frostiron-bang-and)! :)


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